Chapter 17: Instincts
It was to the soft humming of a baritone voice that John slowly woke up. The gentle sounds were forming a slow melody that he didn't recognize, but determined that it sounded very nice. He smiled and turned his head towards the sound. However the music stopped at his movement. "John?" a soft voice asked.
He frowned. Where did the music go? "Hmm?" he groaned.
"John are you awake?"
"Mmm… no," he said peeking through his eyelids slightly. The sight that met him was fantastic. Sherlock Holmes, his hair in messy black curls, sat on the edge of a hospital standard issue chair. His wide blue eyes were looking intently at John, and his lips were pressed together in what John thought might be worry. The consulting detective's black Belstaff coat was lying on the chair next to him, leaving him in a plain silky midnight blue button-up. "Sherlock?" John asked. He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing was real. The last thing he remembered was fighting the mountain lion in Moriarty's makeshift prison.
A true smile curved Sherlock's lips upward. "It's me, John. You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"
John shook his head, grimacing slightly when he felt a stab of pain. "How…?" he trailed off as a nurse came into the room.
"Ah! Mister Watson!" she said with an accent of some kind. Norwegian? "You are awake. I will go get the doctor." She bustled out of the room quickly.
"Where are we?" John asked, turning back to Sherlock.
"Reykjavik," Sherlock replied.
Icelandic! That's what Moriarty's thugs were speaking! John's eyes widened as he realized this. "How…?" he asked again.
"I'll tell you after the doctor looks you over," Sherlock promised.
"Sherlock," he started to protest, but the doctor; a young man with platinum blond hair, pale skin, and green eyes hiding behind thin wire glasses; walked in.
"Mister Watson," he said with only a trace of an accent. "My name is Doctor Thorirsson. I'm your attending physician. Do you remember how you got here?"
John shook his head slowly, unsure of how much the physician knew of the situation. He glanced over at Sherlock who shook his head minutely. The blond man took that as a cue that the Icelandic doctor didn't know the full extent of what he was.
"That is not uncommon," Dr. Thorirsson smiled glancing down at his clipboard. "It looks like you came to us suffering from numerous broken ribs, some serious damage to your right leg and to your left shoulder." He looked back up, his light hair flopping into his eyes for a second before he brushed it away. "Your memory will most likely come back to you within the next few days. In the mean time though, I'm going to insist that you stay at least another night before leaving for home."
John grimaced, but nodded. "If I must," he said.
The doctor smiled a little. "How are you feeling now, Mr. Watson?"
"Doctor," John corrected. The Icelandic physician nodded in response. "And I feel like I got hit by a bus."
"That's partially due to the medicine," he nodded toward the IV drip. "We'll take you off it now and see how you manage overnight. I'll write out a prescription for some pain killers before you go."
"Thanks," John replied.
Doctor Thorirsson glanced over at Sherlock and smiled a little. "I'll let you catch up now and check back in later."
John nodded and thanked the man as he left. Once he'd gone, John turned to Sherlock and looked him over. The man, despite having spent lord knows how long sitting on a hard plastic chair, was a sight for sore eyes. "Sherlock," he said quietly. The dark haired main moved his chair closer and smiled. "Tell me?" he requested simply.
Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded. John listened attentively as Sherlock explained how the ops team and he had moved from one place to another in search of Moriarty, but had failed every time. That was until they found the informant in Árborg. After that it had been up to the ops team to plan the raid on Moriarty's safe house. "So," John started. "It was you who shot the mountain lion?"
The consulting detective nodded. "I had made sure everyone on the team knew what you looked like, but I found you first."
John seemed to process this for a moment. Finally he looked up at Sherlock and smirked. "Good shot."
Sherlock smiled as well. They sat staring at each other for a moment. John could feel a strange itching sensation under his skin. He wanted… no, he NEEDED to touch Sherlock. It was like something inside him was demanding it. "Sherlock," he said quietly, and his voice came out slightly strangled as he held himself back.
The taller man took one look at John and stood from his chair before carefully folding himself around John on the bed. His head was tucked into John's neck and his left hand was resting on John's chest. One leg rested over top of John's legs, and every bit of tension just seemed to release from both of them as they settled. John placed a hand overtop of Sherlock's on his chest and smiled. "Thank you," he said.
Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible as they both closed their eyes. The touch craving had been satisfied for now and they rejoiced in each other's body heat pressed along their entire lengths. They were silent for a long time until John voiced the thought that had been lingering in the back of his head. "What about Moriarty?"
Sherlock lifted his head to properly look at his mate. His lips were tight and his brow was furrowed. He slowly shook his head. "He escaped. However his empire has been severely damaged. There was a room in the building you were being kept in that had massive amounts of electronic storage. Interpol is already busy sifting through the data. Almost four hundred gigabytes worth. I imagine they're already putting the information to use in bringing down bits and pieces of smuggling rings, human trafficking, and other such criminal activities."
"What about the other shapeshifters?"
Sherlock snuggled back into John's neck breathing in the army medic's changed, but still intoxicating scent. "Mycroft is overseeing the data and who has access to it, so the shapeshifters who were found and any others who are hidden away will be treated fairly and anonymously. The human populace in general still doesn't know we exist and we'd prefer to keep it that way."
"How many shapeshifter's are there?" John stroked a hand down Sherlock's shoulder.
The dark haired man shrugged. "No one is certain. For the most part, we're a secretive society. However if I had to estimate I'd say probably somewhere around one to two million in the world."
John nodded absently. "But now that Moriarty has proven that shapeshifters can be made? Will that change things?"
Sherlock nodded. "Most likely. Mycroft will probably want to keep that information under lock and key, but I don't know how well he'll succeed."
"Because Moriarty is still out there with the knowledge and methodology to pass on to others. He's unpredictable."
Silence fell again as John felt himself getting tired again. He didn't want to go to sleep though. He wanted to stay awake with Sherlock. "Go to sleep, John," Sherlock said wearily.
"'M not tired," he replied unconvincingly.
"Yes you are, and I'm not going anywhere. The bond won't permit it for one."
Sherlock sighed and raised his head to look at John again. "If I explain, will you go to sleep?"
The blond man nodded. Sherlock nuzzled back into his neck as he began. "Our bond was pulled and stretched and broken. However it still exists, and now the frayed ends are trying to reunite. It's compelling us to stay in close contact with each other. The closer the better." He paused for a moment for John to process this. "Now go to sleep."
"M'kay," John mumbled, tipping his head so that his nose was closer to Sherlock's dark locks. And just like that, in between one breath and the next, John fell asleep.
It took another two days before John and Sherlock found themselves back in London. During the course of those two days the two shapeshifters barely left each others' sides. Every time John had to let go of Sherlock's hand, he felt his chest constrict and a low whine built in his throat. He was beginning to understand what Sherlock had meant about needing to mate with him when they had first met. His needs weren't quite sexual yet, but he figured that was in part because he was still healing. However by the time they got back to London, the advanced healing properties that came with being a shapeshifter had worked leaving him with a few new scars and a couple of minor aches in his ribs.
As they left Heathrow, a familiar black sedan pulled up to the curb in front of them before they could hail a taxi. Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. John elbowed him gently. "Be nice. He's just concerned."
"He's being overbearing," Sherlock retorted before opening the door for John.
The older man slid in followed by Sherlock and their light carry on bags. The driver, without any instructions, smoothly pulled away from the curb after they'd shut the door. He merged with traffic and eventually pulled onto the M14 to get them back into central London. It took about forty minutes before they were unlocking the door to 221b and finally stepping back inside their home. John felt that a small eternity had passed since he'd seen the place, and he smiled fondly at the mess as Sherlock set down their bags.
John inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of chemicals, tea, and old books. However another scent pervaded his nostrils and he found himself turning back to see his mate. "Sherlock," he said slowly, realizing that his pants were suddenly feeling rather tight.
Sherlock looked him up and down with a predatory gaze and smirked. "Yes John?"
"How did you do it?" John asked as he tried to pace his steps forward.
"Do what John?" Sherlock asked pulling off his coat and hanging it up along with his scarf.
"How did you keep from bending me over the chair and having me six ways from Sunday?" John blushed as he said this, but every single muscle in his body was urging him to claim Sherlock Holmes as his own.
Sherlock, for his part, looked unfazed. "It was an extreme test in patience, I assure you. However there's nothing stopping me now and I do believe you owe me. Or perhaps I'll make you wait, like you did me?"
John barely let the words get out of Sherlock's mouth before he pushed the consulting detective backwards against the wall and claimed his mouth. His hands ran up and down the man's chest as he assaulted the slightly chapped lips and eager tongue. Sherlock wasn't lacking in participation either. He skimmed his hands down John's back until he reached his arse and used both pale hands to squeeze the muscle tightly. John gasped and Sherlock took the opportunity to take control. He used his grip on the smaller man to switch their positions and press John into the wall. "I have been waiting, John Watson, far too long for this."
"God… Sherlock," John groaned as the brunet went to work nipping and sucking at John's neck.
John's fingers dug into Sherlock's back, most likely leaving marks through the fine silk shirt. He gasped as Sherlock bit at the curve where neck met shoulder and simultaneously picked him up. The hands on his rear lifted John easily and he automatically wrapped his legs around the consulting detective's slim waist. "Sherlock!" he shouted. "Put me down!"
"I don't think so, John," Sherlock growled, a lecherous smile on his face. The taller man carried his prize through the living room and kicked open the door to his bedroom before nearly tossing John onto the full-size mattress covered in a soft comforter.
John raised his torso up to rest on his elbows as Sherlock steadily undid the buttons of his silk shirt. His eyes never left John's and John could feel himself getting harder just from that look. He smoothly slid out of his shirt, tossing it carelessly behind him. John's pupils dilated even further as they ravenously devoured the smooth pale chest before him. A thin trail of dark hair trickled down from the middle of his abdomen under the bespoke trousers. Sherlock's long pale fingers slid over the button and fly on the fine trousers, unclasping them and leaving a V of black where John could see his pants.
With a wiggle of his hips, Sherlock slowly pushed his trousers down until they were low enough that they fell on their own and he could step out of them. Underneath was a pair of jockey Y front black cotton briefs that if John hadn't already been hard, would've sent him from nothing to full mast in five seconds flat. A soft whimper escaped his throat without permission, causing a smirk to appear on Sherlock's face. "Like what you see, John?" he asked in a sultry voice, arms akimbo on his hips.
"If you're trying to torture me for how long I made you wait, then I get it. But please stop teasing, Sherlock! I'm about ready to burst!" the blond man pleaded one hand reaching toward his groin. Sherlock was quick though and smacked it away. "Sherlock!" John groaned as the man straddled him.
Sherlock ground down once causing John to surge beneath him panting as his erection sought friction. Two strong hands clasped his hips and held them down though. Another whimper left John's lips as he fell onto his back again, his hands clutching at the comforter. The dark haired man scooted back a little so he was sitting on John's thighs. Teasing fingers brushed over John's erection before they quickly undid the clasp and fly. The heavy warmth of Sherlock left John's thighs and he whined at the loss, but sure hands were urging his hips up so that they could pull his jeans down. The same sure hands returned to remove his plain white cotton pants shortly thereafter. "Off," Sherlock grunted as he tugged at John's cable knit and vest.
John helped him to pull the offending material off, leaving him completely bare to his mate. Sherlock, who still had his briefs on, smirked as he straddled John again and ran his hands up the man's abdomen and over his chest. His fingers stopped to pluck at John's nipples for a moment, causing him to make a small noise of surprise and arch up. "We'll have to explore that later," Sherlock smiled.
"I swear to god, Sherlock. If you don't do something soon I'll pin you down and fuck you raw myself!"
Sherlock's deep chuckle filled the room. "We'll have to explore that later too," he replied.
However it seemed that Sherlock took pity on John because he slid down until his face was level with the erection standing at attention. One hand steadied the stiff member while the other pressed down on John's hips. John was about to tell Sherlock to hurry it up when a warm wet mouth was swallowing him down in one go. A strangled moan left John's throat instead. "Oh my god!"
A dark chuckle caused vibrations to run through John's penis, making him squirm under his mate. Sherlock bobbed up and down a bit, running the tip of his tongue along the vein on the underside of John's cock. He paused for a moment at the head, circling the glans before going back down and swallowing around the entire thing. John let out a loud moan at this and tugged at Sherlock's hair. His hands had found purchase there shortly after Sherlock had started. "Sherlock! I'm gonna… I need to…" he stuttered.
Sherlock sat up though, despite John's protests. "Turn over," he commanded reaching toward his nightstand. In the top drawer was a bottle of lube that he kept for when his body demanded attention. John was rutting against the comforter, moaning, as one lube slicked finger nudged its way into his hole.
"John," Sherlock growled. "You're so tight."
"Oh! Oh god! Please! There!" John moaned as Sherlock's longer fingers hit places in him that he couldn't quite reach when he masturbated. "Ungh! Come on Sherlock, please!"
"Not yet, John. I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't! Well, not much… please!" John pleaded.
"Three fingers. Let me get to three."
John grunted as his head flopped down against the bed. Sherlock smirked and worked two fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, scissoring them to help stretch John out. He brushed over John's prostate every now and then, causing the man to jump and thrust against the bed. However Sherlock would hold him down with his free hand, controlling just how much stimulation John received.
After a few minutes, Sherlock inserted a third finger. He kept the same rhythm, in and out, in and out. John was just about ready to sob at the pressure in his testicles. He just wanted to come. A strangled whine left his throat as Sherlock brushed his prostate again. "Sherlock, I'm going to come," he warned his mate.
However Sherlock removed his fingers from John's hole altogether. John did sob a little at this as he tried to thrust again, only to be held down even harder. "Relax, John," Sherlock whispered in his ear, licking the shell.
"Easy for you to say," John groaned. However he could feel himself calming, slowly backing away from the edge.
"You're so beautiful like this," Sherlock spoke again. "Spread out and begging me to take you. Are you ready John? Do you want me to fuck you?"
"God! Yes, Sherlock! Please!" John begged.
Sherlock couldn't wait any longer and he slicked up his condom-covered cock before pressing the tip against John's entrance. He wanted to shove it in, to make John scream, but he knew that would hurt John. Possibly even rip something. So he held back and pressed in steadily, taking his cues to hold from John's gasping breath. With restraint he didn't know he had, Sherlock worked his way in until his scrotum was resting against John's. He held his position as he waited for John to adjust.
Finally, John's breathing evened out and he pressed back against Sherlock. The taller man let out a long breath that he didn't know he'd been holding and pulled out before pressing back in. He started a slow rhythm, allowing for them both to adjust, but it didn't last long. "Sherlock," John moaned. "Faster, please!"
"So tight! Ungh! John!" Sherlock's mind was focused solely on John. Everything else didn't matter. He thrust in faster; his hands gripping John's hips to pull him back as he thrust in.
Skin slapping skin marked their pace. The tall brunet man moved faster and let out a steady stream of "John, John, John, John…" The blond didn't think he even knew he was doing it. But that didn't matter as Sherlock started to thrust erratically, chasing his orgasm now. John shouted and his vision went white as he met his end. Sherlock fucked him through it and followed shortly after as John's fluttering muscles tipped him over the edge. He bit at the bonding mark on the back of John's neck as he let go, and John yelled again, sure that he was orgasming again despite having recently done so.
Sherlock's muscles gave out and he flopped down on top of John. John grunted, but didn't protest the warm weight. They were silent for several long minutes before Sherlock groaned and slipped off of John to lie beside him, nuzzled into his mate's neck, licking at the bleeding bonding mark. "That was intense," John rasped. "Will it always be like that?"
"I should hope not," Sherlock replied, licking once more at the wound. John turned his head to look quizzically at his mate. "I should think that once we learn each other's bodies more thoroughly, our mating would progressively increase in both pleasure and satisfaction."
John chuckled. "Something like that," he replied, raising an arm to curl around Sherlock.
A short shrill chirping interrupted their post-orgasmic haze though and Sherlock reached for his trousers on the floor. His mobile was in his hands when he rolled back towards John. "What is it?" the blond man asked.
"Lestrade. Says he knows we just got back, but he needs another opinion at a crime scene," he looked enquiringly over at John.
The former army doctor shook his head smiling and ran a hand over Sherlock's stomach. "Only if we can shower together first."
Sherlock smirked and quickly tapped in a reply before bouncing up and pulling John to his feet. "I love you, John," he said after pressing a kiss to his mate's lips.
"I love you too, Sherlock," John replied smiling as he was tugged toward the bathroom.
A/N: This is it! Fin! The story is done. Started writing this story on August 25th, 2012 and didn't finish till October 26th, 2013. That's a long time! I can see why it takes authors so long to publish!
I had a lot of fun writing this and reading all of your wonderful comments and reviews! This certainly won't be my last Johnlock work. I really enjoy writing them together and will continue to do so. In fact, I have another story in the works right now. However, NaNoWriMo is just around the corner and I'll be participating again. Fifty thousand words in thirty days! Gonna be a blast! (Small note, this story is just over 55,000 words to give you an idea of how long that is) Check it out if you're interested in writing. My name on the forums is Ismira_Daugene.
See you next story! TTFN!